


Need You, Touch You

by SaraDobieBauer



Series: Learning To Be Us [2]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Armie Hammer - Freeform, Boss/Employee Relationship, Bruises, Charmie, Desk Sex, Developing Relationship, Dom/sub, Dominant Armie, French, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marking, Mutual Pining, Office Sex, POV Alternating, Pining, Submissive Timmy, Teasing, Timothee Chalamet - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:48:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22772041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaraDobieBauer/pseuds/SaraDobieBauer
Summary: The boss/intern Dom/sub relationship continues to develop between Armie and Timmy.Armie wants to move slowly and be gentle with his newbie sub ... but Timmy is making that very difficult.
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Series: Learning To Be Us [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1625227
Comments: 147
Kudos: 387





	1. Armie

**Author's Note:**

> I know I'm supposed to be focusing on my Paris trip and told you I probably wouldn't write more of this series before I left, but I lied. Oops.
> 
> Starting with Armie's POV ...

Perfectionist, type-A, uber-dominant architect Armie Hammer did not underestimate people. If he was competing for a contract, he always won because he respected his opponent. Like in a game of poker, he studied people for tells and made sure to reveal none of his own. In that, Armie did not underestimate anyone.

He’d greatly underestimated Timmy.

Ever since Armie had shown his hand Saturday morning, work had become a purgatory, edging on hell. Timmy had called Armie a tease? No, if one were to compare the two men, Timmy was king of the tease, Armie a weak novice.

There were no grand gestures. Timmy didn’t sit in Armie’s lap or brush against his cock in the office halls. Subtle. Timmy was so fucking subtle. He tugged on the starched collars of his shirts. He tongued his bottom lip, leaving it wet and glistening. He just barely brushed against Armie when they studied blueprints together.

But he never said a word. Timmy never acknowledged his tease. In that sense, Armie wondered if Timmy even knew he was doing it. Ever since the morning after Timmy’s accident, the magnetism between them had indeed doubled, tripled. They hadn’t touched each other sexually since. Timmy even still wore a bandage on his head, and yet, the tension that had once been mist was now a damn waterfall. Armie felt soaked in Timmy’s presence. By Wednesday afternoon, Armie was drowning.

It was Armie who had dictated there would be no sexual conduct in the office and they would only spend intimate time together on the weekends. His own words echoed in his head: _We’ll ease into things._

Well, a wise man once said … “Fuck that shit.”

By 7 PM, most of the staff had already left the building, but not Armie and not Timmy because when Armie worked late, Timmy worked late. Armie had sent Timmy away to grab some fresh drafting paper from the supply closet, all as a pretense for Armie to pounce.

As soon as Timmy stepped through the door to Armie’s office, Armie was on him, crowding him back against the wall. Drafting paper; what drafting paper? Sheets of expensive white flurried to the ground with a silky _snick._

Armie caged Timmy in with hands pressed to the wall on either side of his head.

Timmy’s whole body wilted on an exhale before his fists curled in the lapels of Armie’s suit. “I can’t stop thinking about the way you touch me.” He went up on his toes, and as though practiced and perfected, Armie’s hands went immediately to Timmy’s lower back.

Timmy opened his mouth for a kiss, but Armie drew back. “You’re being bad,” he said.

His thick eyebrows squeezed together above his nose. “What?”

Armie grinned with their noses pressed together. “Jesus, you don’t even know you’re doing it.”

“Doing … what?” He tried kissing Armie again, but Armie tilted his head back and put a hand lightly on the front of Timmy’s throat. Timmy’s lust haze dispersed like fog in the sun. “Shit, did I do something wrong? I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“No, babe, nothing wrong.” He cupped Timmy’s cheek and rubbed his nose against the side of his face. He smelled of flowers and spice, like a bouquet of fresh roses hidden in a pile of autumn leaves. “You smell so good.”

“Armie,” he whimpered, fingers clawing at the front of Armie’s shirt.

From previous experience, Armie knew how easy it was to pick Timmy up, so he did just that and carried him to the huge desk in the center of his office. One hand cupping Timmy’s ass, Armie used the other to clear the desk of unnecessary detritus. Which was basically everything in that moment. The only thing Armie wanted on his desk right then was Timmy.

He looked perfect spread out across the dark wood. His gray suit was without wrinkle, although the bottom of his white dress shirt was trying to escape the black belt that emphasized the smallness of his waist. Due to being suddenly on his back, Timmy’s red tie was tossed over his shoulder. He made grabby hands up at Armie, but Armie required no encouragement. He crawled on top of the desk and loomed over Timmy.

Timmy, who panted through wet, parted lips.

Armie was usually so restrained. Well, meh.

When he kissed Timmy, Timmy gripped Armie’s head within the vice of his hands. Timmy’s mouth opened immediately for him, silently begging Armie to give, give, give. Armie pulled back, and when Timmy tried lifting his head, pursuing, Armie grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled.

Timmy’s moan sure sounded involuntary. A newly realized instinct.

“I dream about the feel of your hair between my fingers,” Armie whispered and kissed down the side of Timmy’s neck until— He growled and reached for the red knot. “I don’t want you wearing ties anymore.”

Timmy was coherent enough to say, “I told you I don’t want you picking out my clothes.”

“I’m not picking out your clothes.” He tugged at the tie. “I’m being practical.”

“How so?”

Armie finally pulled the red fabric free from around Timmy’s neck and threw it on the floor. “Saves time so I can do this.” He tugged Timmy’s collar aside and bit down where neck met shoulder.

Timmy’s fingers dug into Armie’s sides as his rapid breaths turned to gasps.

Armie drew back and licked the skin he’d just abused. “Do you like that?”

“Mm.” With eyes shut, he nodded. “More.”

Armie unbuttoned the top of Timmy’s shirt and shoved fabric aside so he could first run his thumb across Timmy’s nipple. As he’d hoped, Timmy arched into the touch. Sensitive. And without reprieve.

Armie took a big bite of Timmy’s pec, and Timmy’s hands curled around the back of Armie’s head. Armie sucked harder.

“ _Putain, vert_ ,” Tummy murmured.

Armie released Timmy’s flesh but not before giving his nipple a lick. “Was that French?”

Timmy lifted his head off the desk. “Hmm? Oh, sorry. I do that sometimes.”

Armie, straddling Timmy’s hips, leaned up on his elbows above him. “You speak French?”

Timmy’s mouth curled up at the edges, and he ran a finger down the center of Armie’s chin. “I’m half French.”

Armie clicked his tongue. “Timmy. Timothy, but it’s spelled with two E’s. Say your name in French.”

He grinned. “Timothee.”

Armie actually had to close his eyes to take that in. “Your whole voice changes when you speak French. Deeper somehow. It’s sexy as hell.”

When he opened his eyes, Timmy was still smiling, although his hand soon wandered between their bodies to cup Armie’s obvious arousal. Timmy’s eyes widened. “Whoa, you’re—”

Armie removed Timmy’s hand from his crotch and pinned it to the desk above Timmy’s head. Yes, Armie knew he was well endowed. That wasn’t what he wanted to discuss. “What did you say in French? When I had my mouth on you.”

Timmy’s cheeks turned that lovely pink. “Fuck. And green.”

“Green. Have you been doing research?”

“Maybe.” The admittance seemed to embarrass him greatly, because he no longer made eye contact, and his cheek was hot beneath Armie’s hand.

“Look at me,” Armie said.

He didn’t have to tell Timmy twice.

“Stoplight system. Is that what you want to use?”

He nodded.

“Don’t be embarrassed by research. I want you to understand what we’re doing. Obviously, all relationships are different, and we’ll do plenty of learning together, but it’s good to have a foundation. The stoplight system is perfect, even in French.”

Timmy chuckled. At least his skin was returning to its normal shade.

“So _vert_ is green,” Armie said. “What about yellow and red?”

“ _Jaune et rouge_.”

“I’d like to suck a bruise onto your skin. Mark you. What do you think of that?” Armie asked.

Still smiling, Timmy bit into his lower lip. “I don’t know,” he said, laughing a little. “Try and see.”

“Color?”

“ _Vert_ ,” Timmy replied.

They stared at each other, not in a creepy, wacko way. Not even in a challenging way. More like curiosity and appraisal. They were indeed learning each other, admiring each other. There was so much that Armie had already done in his sexual experience and so much that Timmy hadn’t, but Armie knew—whatever the level of experience—every lover was unique. Timmy needed to learn what he liked.

And Armie was so happy to show him.

He returned his mouth to the trim muscle of Timmy’s left pec and opened his mouth against the tight, hairless skin. God, Timmy really was young—true, but Armie also suspected Timmy wasn’t the kind of guy who was ever going to be covered in body hair. Not like, well, Armie, for instance. He gave the skin an experimental suck, and Timmy inhaled suddenly. Armie glanced up to see his eyes had fallen shut, dark lashes leaving crescent-shaped shadows on his skin.

_Okay, then._

Armie sucked harder, and Timmy’s hand rested on the back of his head. He didn’t pull Armie away or push him down harder, just held. Armie sucked and added a touch of teeth, which was when Timmy groaned. His head rolled back. From his vantage point, all Armie could see was Timmy’s Adam’s apple and the outline of his jaw. Based on the noise, Timmy was breathing through his mouth.

Armie bit down a little, couldn’t help himself, and Timmy responded with, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Then, he started writhing beneath Armie, and—

Armie pulled his mouth away suddenly. Timmy’s entire body went limp on the desk while Armie admired his handiwork: the start of a lovely dark red bruise, framed by imprints of his teeth, right at the top of Timmy’s pec.

Armie slid off the desk and adjusted his suit cuffs. He then slowly buttoned Timmy’s shirt.

“What are you …” Timmy licked his bottom lip, eyes still shut. “Why are you putting my clothes back on? Clothes should be coming off.”

Finished with his task, Armie leaned over Timmy. “Hey.” He brushed dark hair from his forehead until Timmy opened his eyes. “Let me take you home.”

“What?” he practically wheezed. “No, no, I … did … can’t … wha?”

Armie helped him to sit on the desk’s edge. “I said no sexual conduct in the office.”

He stuttered. “Wh-wh-what do you call this?” He put his hand on his chest over Armie’s mark.

“Something to remember me by when we’re not together.” He smiled.

“But I’m …” Timmy reached down and gripped his own erection.

“Eh, eh.” Armie grabbed his wrist. “I didn’t say you could touch that.”

Timmy groaned—not in a happy way.

“Come here.” Armie opened his arms wide, and Timmy slid from the desk and stepped right into them.

“You’re evil,” Timmy said with his face pressed against Armie’s neck.

Armie ran his hands up and down Timmy’s back. “How about I take you home, and then, I go home, and when I get there, we’ll FaceTime?”

He exhaled hot breath across Armie’s skin. “How will that help?”

“Well, I’ll tell you how I want you to play with yourself and watch until you come.”

Timmy whimpered. “ _Vert. Beaucoup de vert_.”

Armie pulled back to he could see Timmy’s face. “So you like this?” He pushed his thumb into the place on Timmy’s pec where the bruise lingered invisible beneath his shirt.

Timmy nodded. “I want more.”

“I’ll think about it,” Armie replied, and Timmy grinned. Armie had never noticed Timmy’s teeth were just a little crooked, and the slight mar in perfection only added to the young man’s appeal. “Let’s get out of here.”

As usual, Armie’s driver and town car awaited them downstairs. Timmy told him his address, and off they went.

In the back seat, Armie put his arm around Timmy, and Timmy rested his head on Armie’s shoulder with zero coaxing. Armie held him like that and kissed his forehead occasionally, played with his hair at other moments. They’d barely been intimate, and yet Armie floated in a state of calm that had eluded him for years. Timmy’s mere presence was a balm he hadn’t known he’d needed.

That calm evaporated when his driver arrived at Timmy’s address.

“Tell me you’re joking,” Armie said, suddenly stern.

“Huh?”

“Tell me you don’t live in this neighborhood.”

“But I do live in this neighborhood.” Timmy picked up his messenger bag and slung it over his shoulder. “You’ll FaceTime me when you get home, right?” His gaze practically glowed.

Armie closed his eyes and took a steadying breath before speaking. It was much too early in their relationship for this, but he had made it his responsibility to keep Timmy safe—and leaving him to walk through a _supremely_ dangerous New York neighborhood was not keeping Timmy safe. “You’re not staying here,” Armie said.

Timmy’s nose wrinkled. “I’ve lived around here my whole life. It’s fine.” He reached for the door, and Armie’s huge hand engulfed all his fingers.

“We will go upstairs. You will pack a bag, and you will come stay with me until we come to a better arrangement.”

Timmy shook Armie’s hand away. “This isn’t what we talked about. I said I only wanted you to … in the …” He scrunched his face up and gestured silently but adamantly to Armie’s driver.

“Upstairs,” Armie snarled.

Despite the circumstances, he didn’t miss the way Timmy’s shoulders did a little happy dance at the sound of Armie’s forcefulness.

Timmy lived on the third floor of a crappy apartment complex with trash in the hallways and a broken elevator. At least his door had a lock and deadbolt, but the journey from his door to the street was scary enough to convince Armie he was not allowing Timmy to stay there.

Inside, Timmy threw his bag on the kitchen table. The place was small, sparse, and barely decorated. All the furniture looked half-broken.

Timmy didn’t wait for Armie to speak. “I told you I don’t want you controlling my life; just sex.”

“I’m not controlling your life. I’m keeping you safe. We can’t have sex if you’re dead.”

Timmy rubbed his forehead. “Where did you think I lived? I’m a college student doing an unpaid summer internship.”

“Based on your clothes, I assumed you came from money.”

Timmy snickered. “Dude, my parents bought me all this shit for Christmas. And my birthday. Which is December 27, but that’s a whole other psychological thing I don’t want to get into.” He slumped into a chair that creaked beneath his weight.

“Timmy. Stay at my house, for a few days at least. You can sleep in the guest room, and we can talk more about … this.” Armie waved at the decrepit four walls and ceiling.

Timmy stood suddenly and pointed a finger in Armie’s face. “Fine. But you’re not going to make me start eating vegetables or organic or whatever rich people do. And yes, I will stop wearing ties, but only because …” He eyed Armie’s lips. “I agree that’s a good idea, not because you said so. And if I’m sleeping at your place, I’m not sleeping in the fucking guest bedroom.” He paused and looked to be gathering all his guts. “And I would really appreciate it if you would let me …” He paused. “Make you feel good tonight.”

Armie took hold of Timmy’s hand and sucked that pointed finger right into his mouth. Timmy gulped in response.

Armie released his finger. “Fine. Now, go pack a bag.” As he watched Timmy’s retreating back, he said, “You’re good at being bossy. You sure you’re submissive?”

Timmy spun on his heel and eyed Armie from his toes to the top of his head. He chuckled, nodded, and said, “Definitely.”


	2. Timmy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timmy's POV ...

Odd he felt so comfortable in Armie’s bedroom already. Nervous by nature, Timmy rarely felt comfortable anywhere, even in his own skin. He especially felt nervous in stranger’s beds, although most of those nervous experiences had been relegated to one-night stands, and that wasn’t what _this_ was.

This was something else.

Fully clothed, Timmy perched on the edge of Armie’s bed as Armie approached, Timmy’s red tie in his hand. “Hold your hands out in front of you.”

“Hmm?” Timmy tilted his head.

Armie smirked. “Hold your hands. Out in front of you.”

“Oh.” He reacted immediately.

Armie, still dressed in an expensive-looking three-piece suit, knelt on the carpet at Timmy’s feet. Even kneeling, he was still huge, the top of his head level with Timmy’s shoulders. Quickly, he wound Timmy’s own tie around his wrists in an artful pattern Timmy’s inexperienced eyes couldn’t follow. His wrists ended up being enclosed by two loops. Armie gave one last tug, and the loops tightened like handcuffs on Timmy’s wrists.

Timmy snort-laughed to hide his sudden, unexpected arousal at the mere sensation of being bound, the encompassing helplessness of it. Based on the glint in Armie’s eyes, Armie knew—because, embarrassingly, Armie seemed to know everything about Timmy’s body already.

Armie pulled one end of Timmy’s tie, and the silk “handcuffs” released. Hands free, Timmy still held them out in front of himself as he grinned up at Armie. Armie ruffled his hair and kissed his forehead before walking farther into the room.

Timmy watched him. He watched Armie remove his own tie and suit coat, followed by his waistcoat and button down. Timmy looked away from Armie’s bare back, unsure if he was supposed to be looking.

_Screw it._

He turned back around and openly ogled his boss as Armie unbuckled his belt and pushed his dress pants down his wide hips. Timmy was sorely unprepared for that muscular ass and those thick thighs. He cupped his own dick through his pants and willed it to calm down. He was twenty-two, not twelve. Shit.

Armie turned around and ran a hand through his hair. Christ, the front was almost better than the back. No, it was definitely better because now, Timmy could see Armie’s handsome face and thick chest hair and (gulp) the bulge in his black boxer briefs. The bulge Timmy had felt and feared wouldn’t fit _anywhere._

Timmy stood when Armie pulled down the blankets on his bed and reclined down the center. Armie stretched out his long appendages and said, “Go ahead.”

_Go ahead? Fuck._

Timmy acted on instinct. Still fully clothed, he crawled across the bed and straddled Armie’s hips before dive-bombing for his chest. Timmy shamelessly rubbed his face against Armie’s chest hair. “You smell so good,” he said, his hands resting on the front of Armie’s shoulders. He must wear some expensive cologne. Timmy sat up over Armie. “Hmm, I like the view from here.”

Armie snickered. “Don’t get used to it.”

“I won’t.” He ran his fingertips down the center of Armie’s chest. “I like being under you.” Free to touch, Timmy _touched._ It wasn’t even sexual, not really. He was just exploring. He’d never been allowed to touch Armie like this, no matter how many times he’d fantasized about it. Timmy had never been allowed to touch anyone like this, all of his previous lovers in a rush to just get off and get home.

He traced Armie’s ribs and down the center of his flat stomach, fuzzy like his chest. Armie twitched when Timmy’s fingers grazed his right side.

Timmy grinned. “Are you ticklish?”

“Don’t,” Armie ordered, although any forcefulness was belied by the upward turn of his lips.

“Don’t?”

“Timmy.” He glared in warning.

So of course, Timmy swooped down and licked over the ticklish spot.

The following sensation was not unlike being flipped upside down by a rollercoaster. Next thing he knew, Timmy was on his back, dizzy, with Armie above him, straddling his hips and pinning Timmy’s arms to the bed. Timmy tried to free himself—but he didn’t really want to be free. He just enjoyed the struggle.

“I like when you fight,” Armie whispered.

Timmy chuckled. “The feeling is mutual.”

Armie’s hungry gaze turned to panic. “Fuck, I shouldn’t be throwing you around. Does your head feel okay?”

Timmy felt the slight pull of Armie’s thumb brushing against his bandage. “Really not thinking about my head right now, but, yes, it feels fine.”

“Good.” Armie studied Timmy’s face; the continued adoring scrutiny moved down his neck.

Timmy swore he could feel the heat like lasers on his skin.

“How much do you like this shirt?” Armie asked.

Timmy pressed his lips together before speaking. “I own three work shirts. I spilled coffee on one of them and cried for two hours.”

Armie—stone cold boss man Armie—laughed. His whole face changed. Armie was so serious all the time; it was odd to see his face brighten and melt into amused wrinkles. No, not odd. It was lovely. Timmy wanted to make him laugh all the time.

“Okay, then,” Armie said, still smiling. He let go of Timmy’s arms, leaned back, and started carefully unbuttoning. “Why do you want to be an architect?” he asked.

“I liked Legos as a kid.”

Armie laughed quietly and shook his head, undoubtedly due to Timmy being ridiculous. But Timmy was having so much fun. He’d never “had fun” in bed. It had always been wham-bam-thank you, sir. Never filled with laughter. Never slow seduction and conversation.

“Really, though,” Timmy continued. “I did like Legos as a kid. Then, I just kept making things. Christmas was the best. I’d build castles out of all the leftover cardboard boxes. Growing up in New York, I’d always been around awesome buildings. One day, I realized I wanted to make awesome buildings of my own. Not out of cardboard.”

“Hmm.” Fully unbuttoned, Armie pushed apart the front halves of Timmy’s shirt.

“What about you?” Timmy asked while trying to ignore the way Armie’s palms covered his entire chest.

“I wanted to build tall things and loom over people.”

Timmy smiled. “You already loom over people.”

As if proving his point, Armie pressed his weight into Timmy’s chest and indeed _loomed._ “Literally and metaphorically then.”

It was sort of hard to breathe, and Timmy liked it. “Would you put your hand on my throat?”

Armie’s head bowed. The crown pressed against Timmy’s collarbones. “Christ, Timmy.”

“Is that too much? I just thought ... I didn’t—”

Armie lifted his head. “No, baby.” The open-mouthed kiss made Timmy forget, oh, everything. The feel of Armie’s hand on the front of his throat brought him back.

He’d been half-hard since walking into Armie’s apartment. It now felt like his dress pants were trying to strangle his dick. He covered Armie’s hand with his own and closed his eyes, wallowing in the sensation.

Floating, really. Timmy was floating, and for maybe the first time in his life, he didn’t feel nervous, anxious, or awkward. He felt shielded and safe.

Armie’s hand disappeared. His voice sounded like it came through water. “Color, baby.”

“ _Vert_.” His eyelids felt heavy, but he opened them nonetheless. “Wait, I’m supposed to be taking care of you.”

Armie’s thumb rubbed across Timmy’s lower lip. “No. I take care of you, remember?”

He shook his head. “I mean …” He clasped his hands around the back of Armie’s neck and brought him down for a kiss that was somehow both sweet and scorching. Timmy rested his head back down on the bed. “You can fuck me, if you want.” Although, yeah, Timmy was still a little worried that was going to hurt.

Armie poked the “upset line” between Timmy’s brows. “Tell me what’s the matter.”

“It’s nothing. You just feel really … big.”

“I will play with you for hours before I fuck you.” He leaned down and bit the side of Timmy’s neck. “You’ll be _begging_ for it.”

Timmy moaned. “I think you could make me come from just talking.”

“I’d love to try that sometime, but right now, I want you naked.”

Timmy almost knocked Armie backwards off the bed in his rush to stand up and (carefully) rip all his clothes off. It wasn’t like he had a ton of back-ups, so no tearing. But wrinkles? Fuck wrinkles. Timmy left every thread of clothes in a pile on the floor at his feet.

He was about to dive back into bed, but Armie held his hand out. “Stop.”

Timmy froze … and wilted when he realized Armie was staring at him, scrutinizing. Timmy was nothing like Armie. He wasn’t big and buff and beautiful. He was small and pointy and pale.

This was when it ended. This was when Armie would realize he’d made a huge mistake.

Timmy prepped for rejection and promised himself he would not cry just as Armie sat up on the edge of the bed and licked his lips. “Goddamn, Tim. You’re perfect.”

He tried not to smile like an idiot—and failed.

“Come here.” Armie tapped his lap, and Timmy happily climbed on board. Armie’s hands grabbed his ass and tugged him closer so their erections touched, although Armie’s boxer briefs still existed as a barrier. From that position, Timmy was taller. Armie looked up at him and said, “I’m going to fuck you like this one day. With you in my lap. Would you like that?”

Timmy nodded and nodded.

Armie sucked the side of his neck and thumbed the tip of Timmy’s cock. “You’re so wet for me.”

Timmy nodded again. He’d forgotten how to talk.

Finally—thank God—Armie pulled down the front of his own boxers and tucked the waistband beneath his balls. Timmy couldn’t help but look down, and yikes, okay, he’d never seen a dick that big, not even in porn.

“Whoa,” he whispered and turned red when he realized he’d said that out loud.

Armie chuckled. Darkly. It was a movie villain chuckle. All Timmy’s thoughts were erased when Armie wrapped his hand around both of them and started moving his hand up and down. To keep from falling over backwards, Timmy clutched Armie’s shoulders, but he needn’t have. Armie’s free hand rested solid and firm on Timmy’s lower back, supporting him.

Timmy hummed and tilted his head back. Armie must have taken that as an invite, because his tongue found Timmy’s throat immediately. “I don’t know how,” Armie murmured, “but I swear you taste like sugar.”

Timmy smiled up at the ceiling with his eyes squeezed shut. He slowly started moving his hips, thrusting up into Armie’s grip, which Armie apparently enjoyed because he made a sound Timmy had never heard before. Something between a growl and a purr.

Out of breath, Armie said, “I want you to be my good boy and come for me.”

Timmy’s head dropped forward against Armie’s shoulder. His eyes burned at the endearment, not in pain but in relief. He’d never known he wanted someone to call him that. He supposed he’d never known a lot of things. He wrapped his arms around Armie’s neck and thrust, his dick rubbing against Armie’s while his hand continued to caress them both.

Armie bit Timmy’s earlobe, and Timmy came with a sob. Although all his limbs tingled and he felt like a rag doll, he had the presence of mind to lean back and watch Armie’s pleasure. As in life, he was focused and quiet. Armie closed his eyes, clenched his jaw, and didn’t make a sound as his seed erupted between them.

Both recovering, they pressed their foreheads together and breathed. As Timmy’s heartbeat returned to normal, he hardly noticed being scooped up and gently placed into Armie’s now familiar bed. Armie disappeared, but Timmy didn’t have time to complain before he was back with a warm, wet towel. He cleaned Timmy’s stomach and his spent cock—which made him twitch—before throwing the towel in the hamper.

Timmy felt the dip of Armie’s body to his right, so he rolled right just as Armie reached for him. They met in the middle with Timmy’s face pressed to the center of Armie’s chest and their limbs tangled together.

Armie ran his fingers soothingly, slowly through Timmy’s hair and pressed his lips to Timmy’s forehead, right next to his bandage. He left them there for a long moment before asking, “You with me?”

Timmy hummed in the affirmative.

“I want you to tell me if there’s anything we ever do or anything I ever say that you don’t like. Is that understood?”

Timmy nodded against Armie’s chest hair.

“I’ve never enjoyed touching someone as much as I enjoy touching you.” He squeezed Timmy tighter. “It might be very difficult to let you go.”

His words could have sounded ominous but didn’t. They instead instilled a sense of peace. This powerful, beautiful, older man wanted to keep Timmy around? Wanted to dominate and punish him in bed? They hadn’t explored punishment yet, but … yes. Timmy wanted. God, Timmy wanted _everything._

“Don’t let me go,” Timmy said. Again, he felt himself getting emotional. He suspected emotions were as big a part of this new relationship as the sex. He hid his tears, buried them in the warmth of Armie’s skin.

“I won’t,” Armie replied. “You’re mine.”


	3. Armie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Armie's POV ...

Armie knew he wanted to take things slowly, but that was a difficult rule to keep when he woke with Timmy wrapped in his arms. What made it worse were the sleep noises. Timmy didn’t talk in his sleep, per se. More like mumbled incoherencies, but those incoherent mumbles were still in Timmy’s sleep-sexy voice, deeper than expected for a guy so pretty and petit. Almost like God gave Timmy the wrong voice in the assembly line. His voice was supposed to belong to some tall, buff Italian guy, but then God heard Timmy’s voice and saw the way he looked and declared him a masterpiece.

Before leaving the bed, Armie kissed Timmy’s forehead. Timmy mumbled in response and slid onto his stomach in the center of Armie’s bed. The shifting blankets just barely reached to Timmy’s lower back. With a mind of their own, Armie’s fingers tickled the dip of Timmy’s lower spine. Christ, his skin was better than expensive silk.

Armie took a quick shower and prepped for work. By the time he exited the bathroom, Timmy was still asleep, so Armie went to the kitchen and started preparing breakfast. Perhaps the smell of melted butter acted as a beacon, because as soon as Armie completed his cooking, Timmy shuffled out from the hallway, rubbing his eyes.

Armie froze in the plating of food because Timmy was wearing Armie’s discarded shirt from the night before, boxer briefs, and … nothing else. Armie’s mouth watered. “Fuck, you look beautiful in the morning.”

Timmy shook his head. “No, I look like a muppet.”

Armie gestured with his spatula. “In what way does this scream ‘muppet?’”

“Dunno.” He sat on a bar stool and yawned while fighting to push bed head from his face. “Soft and floppy.”

“Hmm, never been attracted to a muppet before.” Two plates now filled with eggs, bacon, and buttered toast, Armie slid one across the counter to Timmy while Armie stood to eat.

Timmy took a single bite of bacon and put it down, chewing slowly.

Armie thought back to all the time they’d spent together in his office and realized … “You don’t eat very much, do you?”

Timmy looked up suddenly, and although he attempted nonchalance, Armie saw the tense, motionless way he held himself. “I eat.” As if to prove his point, he took a small bite of toast.

Armie put down his fork and leaned his hands on the island separating them. “I hardly ever see you eat at work.”

Timmy nudged his bacon with the tip of his finger. “Guys like that I’m skinny.”

“I assume guys like you because you’re beautiful, intelligent, and funny. Unless someone told you otherwise.”

Timmy didn’t respond, just stared at his food.

Armie cleared his throat. “Look at me.”

He did but tried to hide beneath his brows. “It’s no big deal. Some guys just liked throwing me around. They had, like, a skinny kink.”

“Well, I want you healthy.” Armie picked up his fork and used it to point at Timmy’s plate. “Keep eating.”

They ate in silence for a minute or two before Armie spoke.

“You mentioned you grew up in the city. Are your parents here then?”

Timmy swallowed a large bite of toast, which pleased and aroused Armie in equal measure. “They’re in Paris now. Moved there for Dad’s work.”

“And what does your father do?”

“He works at the American Embassy. Public relations. He, like, translates cultural stuff. He was born in France and grew up there before moving to America, so he’s, um,” he chuckled, “a bridge between countries, I guess.”

Armie nodded. “And your mom?”

“She teaches English.”

“And you’re bilingual.”

Timmy shrugged. “Only maybe ninety-nine point seven percent.”

Armie lifted his brows. “Oh, is that all?”

Timmy chuckled, shook his head, and took a bite of eggs followed by more bacon. Just the sight of Timmy eating, enjoying his food, warmed Armie to the bone … which gave him an idea.

“I’d like to take you on a date tonight to my favorite French restaurant.”

Timmy blinked at him for a few seconds. Bed head had never looked so sexy. Even the remnant of a pillow case crease on Timmy’s cheek suited him. Armie had it fucking _bad._ Finally, Timmy replied, “I didn’t pack date clothes.”

“Date clothes?"

“Clothes one wears on a date,” Timmy replied.

“I’ll buy you some today.”

Timmy’s fork dropped to his plate with a clatter. “So far this morning, we’ve talked about my diet and my clothes.” He paused for effect.

And kept pausing.

Oh, he was done talking.

Oh. _Oh._

Armie could recognize when he’d overstepped his boundaries. They’d discussed this, twice by then. Armie had only been given permission to control Timmy in bed.

Armie slid his plate to the side. “Come here.”

It took Timmy a second to realize what Armie meant, but then, he too shoved his plate aside and climbed onto the counter. He got close—but not close enough—and folded his legs under himself.

Armie leaned forward, took hold of Timmy’s hips, and dragged him forward until Timmy’s appendages flailed off-balance. He grabbed Armie’s shoulders, and his legs unfolded to wrap around Armie’s waist.

Armie pressed his nose to Timmy’s. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry, too.”

“Why?” Armie asked.

Timmy shrugged.

Armie took a firm grip on his chin. “I need you to realize that shrugging is not a viable response to my questions.”

Timmy’s lips parted and closed. Parted again. “I’m still scared, I guess.”

“Of me?”

“Sometimes. I dunno.” He fidgeted with a button on the front of Armie’s dress shirt. “I think I’m scared of what you might do to me.”

“Baby, I told you, we’ll only ever go as far as you want in bed.”

Timmy, the adorable little shit, rolled his eyes. “I’m not talking about in bed, Armie. I’ve never been in a relationship before because it was too dangerous. I get attached enough just sleeping with someone _once_. I didn’t want to find out what would happen to my heart if I kept someone around and then, they left.”

“I’m not leaving.”

He sighed. “You can’t say shit like that. It’s only been two seconds, and we haven’t even fucked yet.”

Armie gripped tightly to the hair at the nape of Timmy’s neck. “You’re in my blood. You’re in every part of me already. I felt it the first time we were in the same room, like I already knew you. Like I’d already touched you. I am yours as much as you are mine.”

Timmy looked pale.

“Color?” Armie asked.

“ _Jaune_ ,” Timmy whispered.

“How do we make it green?”

Timmy smiled without showing teeth. “Take me on a date.”

Armie nodded. “I’ll escort you home after work so you can get your … ‘date clothes.’ Whatever that means.”

Timmy grinned. “Jesus, I don’t wear suits on dates, Armie.”

“What the hell else would you wear?"

“Not suits.” He laughed—at Armie—and strangely, Armie didn’t mind. If it had been anyone else, Armie would have been furious, but since it was Timmy, Armie smiled right back.

***

Timmy was going to be an incredible architect. This fact should have been evident by Timmy even getting chosen for the internship in the first place. Armie’s architecture firm was one of the most renowned in New York City; getting a foot in the door there was akin to marrying royalty. Despite Armie knowing all this, Timmy still impressed. He had an eye for design that Armie almost envied. Almost. Armie’s ego was much too large for straight up jealousy, but with Timmy, it was close. The kid was brilliant. And only twenty-two. Christ, he was only going to get better, and Armie hoped to be there to watch. No, he _would_ be there to watch.

As promised, after work, Armie and Timmy rode in the back of Armie’s town car to Timmy’s apartment so that Timmy could change into “date clothes.” Armie sat at Timmy’s kitchen table while he waited and stared at, well, nothing. For a young man who was so creative and innovative in the work place, his apartment really was shit.

After about fifteen minutes, though, Armie definitely had something to look at.

Timmy.

In “date clothes.”

Date Timmy was apparently casual Timmy. He wore a slim cut plaid collar shirt in stripes of varying shades of blue, green, and grey over dark skinny— _skinny_ —jeans and scuffed brown ankle boots.

Armie stood like he’d been electrocuted and cussed.

Timmy blushed and hugged himself.

“Date clothes,” Armie mumbled in a trance. Before he even felt himself moving, he stood in front of Timmy with his hands squeezing Timmy’s trim waist.

Timmy stared up at him with a wrinkle between his brows that portended expected rejection.

Armie leaned down and kissed the wrinkle away. “Fuck, you look hot, honey.”

Timmy bit down on his bottom lip and at least stopped hugging himself like it was December outside and not June.

Armie let go of him and stepped back. “Turn around.”

Timmy turned around.

“Your ass looks amazing.” To illustrate his admiration, Armie ran his right hand down Timmy’s hip and gave his right cheek a rough squeeze that made Timmy squeak. Armie chuckled darkly with his mouth against the side of Timmy’s neck. “I would like to tie you up tonight. Will you let me?” Christ, he was breaking all his own rules. Move slowly? No sexual conduct during the workweek? All out the window.

It should have concerned Armie that Timmy affected—controlled—him that way, but he supposed that was the beauty of a Dom/sub relationship. Underneath it all, the sub was always in control. He wondered when Timmy would realize.

“Green,” Timmy replied, and Armie was about to cancel dinner, carry Timmy back to his apartment, and _take._ But no, anticipation was half the fun. Well, maybe not half. A quarter of the fun.

Armie took Timmy to Edwin’s, his favorite French restaurant. Armie knew the owner, loved the wine selection, and had never had a subpar meal there, despite having been a customer for the better part of ten years.

Once they were seated at a corner candlelit table with some privacy, Timmy’s wide eyes took it all in. “This place is … fancy.”

“Only the best for my good boy,” Armie whispered.

Timmy hid behind his menu.

“I want you to order for both of us,” Armie continued. “In French. You don’t want me controlling your food. Tonight, why don’t you control mine?”

Timmy lowered the menu only enough for Armie to see the top of his head and his eyes. “But I don’t know what you like.”

Armie leaned back in his seat and stretched his legs out beneath the table. Timmy visibly jumped when Armie wrapped his ankles around Timmy’s. “Order two dishes, and we’ll share. A bottle of red wine, too.”

Timmy’s eyes flitted back to the menu. _Perfect._ He was eager to please.

When the waiter returned, Timmy rattled off a bunch of French Armie didn’t understand, and Armie did not care. He loved the sound of Timmy speaking French. They would definitely be integrating that into the bedroom.

After the waiter left, Timmy leaned his elbows on the white tablecloth and crossed his arms. “So when was the last time you were in a relationship like this?”

Armie turned into a statue. He was made of stone, although his mouth did manage a quiet, “What?”

“You ask questions about me,” Timmy said. “I want to know more about you.”

The waiter returned with their bottle of Bordeaux. Timmy couldn’t possibly have known it was one of Armie’s favorites, but Armie took it as a good sign. The waiter poured and disappeared back into the darkness, an ideal example of well-paid servitude.

Armie loosened his tie.

“Shit. I just said the totally wrong thing. Idiot.” Timmy tapped himself on the forehead. He’d removed his bandage that morning, although it would take some time for the stitches to dissolve. Armie knew they were there because he had checked, but Timmy’s hair hid the evidence of injury from everyone else.

“No.” Armie grabbed his hand and squeezed. “I just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all. You can ask me anything you want. Always. To answer your question, it’s been three years.”

“Oh. Damn.”

Armie smirked. “I haven’t been a monk since then, Timmy. I just haven’t invited a full time sub into my bed.”

Timmy took a sip of wine, but it might as well have been water with the way he just gulped it down. “The last guy, did it end badly or something?”

Armie took a slow, deep breath. “No, he just … found someone else.”

Timmy scoffed. “Jesus, who would leave _you?”_

“You’ve got to take me off this pedestal of yours.”

“Why, if it’s what I think?”

Armie tried not to let the affection take over his whole brain because people were generally expected to talk on dates—but it was a near loss. Hearing Timmy talk about him like this ignited a flame Armie hadn’t even realized had gone out. He expressed the fire inside him by grabbing Timmy’s hand and kissing the center of his palm.

Timmy had ordered a duck confit risotto and a beef Bourguinion that perfectly complemented the wine. They shifted away from serious topics while they ate, Armie periodically feeding Timmy bites of food between heated glances and smiles.

There were the occasional reminders of Timmy’s age. He’d never seen _When Harry Met Sally_ and thought “grunge” was a clothing style that inspired a music movement and not the other way around. Timmy hadn’t even been born when the OJ Simpson trial occurred, and Princess Diana was just a face in photos, not a woman the whole world mourned.

It didn’t bother Armie. In fact, he enjoyed their differences. Especially their difference in size. He couldn’t think about the way Timmy’s small body felt beneath his without getting hard.

Armie rejected dessert. Timmy pouted when the waiter went for their check, but Armie whispered, “We’re having dessert at home” and had Timmy smiling again. He couldn’t wait to get his beautiful boy into bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter left before I leave for Paris... 
> 
> And it's SCORCHING. 
> 
> See ya next week ;)


	4. Timmy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timmy's POV ...

As soon as Armie welcomed Timmy into his apartment and closed the door behind them, Timmy turned, wrapped his arms around Armie’s neck, and sucked at the skin below his jaw. Between wet kisses, Timmy mumbled, “Dessert, dessert, dessert” and was too blissed out on the smell of Armie’s cologne and the feel of his stubble to defend against a sudden shove and spin.

Timmy’s eyes wobbled in his head from the unexpected—and somehow gentle—force of Armie untangling Timmy from his body. Timmy’s back was against the front door. (When had that happened?) Armie crowded him against it before holding Timmy’s throat in his hand and giving one threatening squeeze.

Armie over-annunciated a stern, “Be-have.”

Timmy gulped and liked that he could feel Armie’s palm pressed against his Adam’s apple. Christ, how had he gone twenty-two years without this?

Armie removed his hand and stepped back. “Go to the bedroom and strip.”

Timmy didn’t even acknowledge the order. He just toed out of his boots and moved down the hall, half-unbuttoning his shirt before pulling the whole thing off over his head. When he heard Armie’s dress shoes—the click, clack on hardwood—he moved faster, tumbling on the bed in order to drag off his skinny jeans, socks, and boxers.

Timmy’s flailing looked to amuse Armie, who did his best to hide a smirk while unbuttoning his dress-shirt cuffs and rolling up his sleeves. His suit coat was already gone.

Now nude, Timmy sat on the edge of Armie’s bed and awaited an order. He actually got hard just awaiting an order.

Instead of doing what Timmy was hoping (basically, lunge and take), Armie walked right past him and to a tall chest of drawers. He opened the top one, looked back at Timmy, and then, looked back into the drawer’s depths.

“Armie?” Timmy wasn’t even embarrassed that he sounded like he was begging.

“Just choosing the right color,” Armie replied.

_Color? Oh. Of rope?_

Armie pulled out a coil of royal blue rope.

_Oh, my God. Of rope!_

Timmy’s fingers tingled with nerves, so he hugged himself and watched Armie approach.

Armie must have sensed … something, because he froze and asked, “Color?”

“ _Vert,_ ” Timmy said with an adamant nod.

Armie tilted his chin up and to the left. “Pull the blankets back and sit in the center of the bed.”

Timmy had never moved so fast in his life. Once he was settled, Armie—still in his slacks, waistcoat, and button down—knelt in front of Timmy.

“Hold your hands out in front of you, palms facing each other.”

Timmy did as told, and Armie wrapped his wrists the way he’d done once before using Timmy’s tie. The rope felt different. Still soft but forceful. This wasn’t playful; this was with purpose, especially when Armie pulled the loops tight, binding Timmy’s thin wrists together.

“Fuck,” Timmy whispered.

“Put your hands behind your head,” Armie said.

Once Timmy had done that, Armie moved to embrace him—but didn’t. He merely adjusted the ends of the long rope so they fell behind Timmy’s back. He crossed either side of rope behind Timmy’s and told him to lay down.

With his back against the soft fabric of Armie’s expensive sheets, Timmy felt the way the rope crisscrossed just below his shoulder blades while his bound hands were pinned behind his head.

Armie gave the rope a tug, further restraining Timmy’s arms above and behind him. He drew the ends of the royal blue rope around the base of Timmy’s ribcage and tied them into an artful knot. Straddling Timmy’s hips, Armie leaned back to admire his work.

“I knew the blue would be perfect,” he whispered. “How does that feel?”

Timmy gave a tug. When he tried to lift his wrists, the rope tightened around his ribs. Timmy’s resonant moan surprised even himself. He blushed and buried his face against his own tricep.

Armie turned his face back around with a finger on his chin. “Don’t hide your pleasure from me.”

“It’s not …” Timmy nibbled his lower lip. “It’s just … I didn’t know.” He hadn’t known so many things about himself, not until Armie. If they’d never met, would this part of Timmy always have remained unexplored? Would he have even been aware of his longing to submit, or would he have walked through his entire life, feeling as though something was always missing? “I didn’t know I was like this.”

Armie leaned over him with hands on either side of Timmy’s head. “I did.” He pushed his thumb against the bruise on Timmy’s left pec, and the dull ache made Timmy’s toes curl.

Armie reclined at Timmy’s side.

“Close your eyes,” he said.

Timmy let out a slow exhale before doing just that. Within the darkness behind his eyelids, Timmy was much more aware of the rope that bound him—but also embraced. He felt safe, protected, especially with Armie’s heat at his side. _Especially_ when Armie’s fingers started trailing invisible paths along his skin. The touches started gently, up near Timmy’s collarbones, then moved lower over his chest, below the rope and across his abdomen.

When Armie’s fingers tickled across the top of Timmy’s thigh, Timmy tried to shift to get just a whisper of touch to his dick. Armie pulled his hand away. “Don’t move,” he ordered.

“Sorry, sorry.”

He heard Armie chuckle, which made Timmy grin, despite the intense intimacy of the situation. Armie was the first person Timmy had ever wanted to smile around in bed—until Armie’s weight suddenly disappeared.

“Armie?” Timmy squeaked. He didn’t dare open his eyes but did try to sit up, which wasn’t easy based on his bondage.

Armie’s hand immediately found his shoulder. “It’s okay, baby. I’m right here. Just need to get something. Lay down.”

Timmy fell back onto the bed, relieved when Armie’s weight returned at his side. “Kiss me?” Timmy begged.

Armie’s large palm cupped Timmy’s cheek before their lips met. The kiss was gentler than a flower petal across Timmy’s mouth, but it was enough to make him relax back into his bindings and feel the unexpected peace of helplessness.

He startled at a quiet, familiar sound. A plastic _click._ He was not surprised, however, when Armie’s fingers touched beneath his balls and then lower, circling his hole. Timmy’s face wrinkled, not in pain but in anticipation.

“Color?” Armie asked.

“ _Vert, mon amour, vert_ …” It was possible Timmy might go full French any second.

Timmy’s mouth dropped open when the tip of Armie’s lubed finger slid inside.

“More … please …” Sure, the gentle thing had been hot, but Timmy was starting to _need_ and need hard.

“Excuse me?” Armie growled against Timmy’s ear. “Was that the sound of you telling me what to do?”

“Msorrymsorry.” When Armie surprised him by giving Timmy exactly what he wanted—his entire finger—Timmy’s back arched, pushing Armie’s finger in farther. He wallowed in the strain of his chest muscles as his bound hands also shifted, farther behind his head, a hot as fuck reminder of his current predicament.

Armie fucked him with a single finger. “Is this what you wanted, hmm?”

“Yes, please.” God, how much was Armie going to want him to talk? Timmy would soon be beyond even speaking French; he would be incoherent.

Armie added a second finger, and although Timmy gasped, the too-soon burn was glorious. After a few gentle—and not so gentle—thrusts, Armie pulled his fingers free. “That should be enough.”

Timmy almost opened his eyes. Instead, he shouted, “What?”

“Your eyes better still be shut.”

“Yes, yes. Did I do something wrong?”

Armie’s deep voice soothed. “No, but my good boy deserves something more.”

Were they going to fuck?

_Oh, please, tell me we’re going to fuck._

Instead of Armie’s dick, however, something that felt metallic pressed to Timmy’s entrance.

“Breathe, baby,” Armie said and pushed.

Timmy was too amazing to make a sound.

Even with his eyes closed, he recognized the shape of a butt plug. Armie must have warmed it up with his hands because the delightful object wasn’t cold inside Timmy. It warmed immediately to his body temperature and made him feel so perfectly full.

An involuntary shout escaped Timmy when the damn thing started vibrating. “Holy fuck, oh, fuck, oh, fuck.”

“Color?” There was definite amusement in that tone.

“ _Vert_! _Putain_ , fuck, fuck. Holy shit.”

The vibrations increased, and Armie used his hand to start fucking Timmy with the magical toy.

“Please,” Timmy whined. “Please, I need to see you.”

“Look at me, Timmy.”

His opening eyelids beat the speed of sound, and there was Armie above him, resting on his left elbow while his right hand did wonderful, horrible—need more—things between Timmy’s legs.

Timmy was sure he looked completely fucked out, especially as Armie started pulling the plug out just a tad following every inward thrust. Despite being untouched, Armie looked in a similar state with his eyes wide and mouth hanging half open. There was even a bit of sweat glistening on his forehead.

Armie kissed Timmy with open mouth and tongue. When he pulled back, his blue eyes were glazed. “Fuck, baby, you look so beautiful like this.”

Timmy whined, overwhelmed with praise and pleasure.

The vibrations increased, and Timmy sobbed once before gasping for breath.

“That’s my good boy. Let go.”

“Armie,” he gasped.

“I’m here.”

Timmy nodded, eyes slipping closed once again, and barely noticed when Armie shifted. The plug continued to tease his insides. Timmy’s thighs were already shaking by the time Armie took the head of his cock into his mouth.

Timmy’s eyes definitely opened for that. Again, he tried to lean up, despite the rope, but it was a struggle.

Armie put his free hand on Timmy’s abdomen. “Relax, baby.”

Timmy nodded and let his head flop down on his bound hands. Next time, he wanted the rope tighter.

With Armie’s hot mouth on his dick and the continued thrusts from the butt plug, Timmy gave in and came. And came. And … it was a pleasure so intense it bordered on pain, which—Timmy realized—was how he wanted sex to be for the rest of his life.

He didn’t black out per se, but he slipped into a warm pool of semi-consciousness as Armie licked him clean and slowly removed the plug from his ass. He did his best to surface, but Armie made that all the more difficult when he covered Timmy’s still bound body with his own and started gently rolling his erection against Timmy’s hip.

Timmy understood certain words … _perfect, beautiful, my perfect beautiful submissive boy._

He hummed at the attentions but still couldn’t make words.

Eventually—Timmy had no concept of time—he opened his eyes to find Armie still curled around him and, according to the sizable shaft pressing against Timmy’s hip, still hard. Timmy opened his mouth a few times before bypassing French and somehow remembering English.

“Will you fuck my face?” he whispered. He’d never said that to anyone before, and he was equally embarrassed and turned on by its explicitness.

Armie lifted onto his elbows above him. “Baby, I would hurt you.”

“No.” He shook his head. “No, you won’t. You wouldn’t.”

He ran his thumb across Timmy’s bottom lip. “I would if I did that.”

Timmy sucked Armie’s thumb into his mouth and let it go. “Please. I need it.”

Timmy took it as a good sign that Armie stared down into his face and seemed to deliberate. He then rolled off of Timmy, but unlike usual, Timmy didn’t freak. He didn’t ask if he’d done something wrong or feel rejected. He now trusted Armie with his body and his heart.

Relief coursed through him when Armie removed his own clothes and tossed them on the floor. It seemed a very not-Armie thing to do what with the man’s organization and discipline at work. Again, a good sign that perhaps his uber-intelligent, strict boss was being solely controlled by his dick.

When Armie straddled Timmy’s hips, his cock stood out straight from his body, and okay, it was intimidating as fuck. He gave the rope around Timmy’s ribs a light tug. “Are your fingers tingling at all? Shoulders okay?”

Timmy nodded but couldn’t take his eyes off Armie’s huge dick and statuesque body. Timmy had never felt so small in his life.

Armie scooted forward, now straddling Timmy’s chest. “Just a little. I’m not giving you all of it.”

“Anything,” Timmy mumbled and opened his mouth.

Armie sighed and squeezed his dick. “God, I could come just looking at you. You’re like a filthy angel.”

“I’m no angel.” Timmy smiled.

Armie’s face turned serious for a moment. “Yes, you are,” he said and finger-brushed the front of Timmy’s hair.

Armie had been serious when he’d said he wasn’t giving Timmy his entire dick—and maybe Timmy was relieved? He certainly loved the feel of Armie’s cock in his mouth, but he could only fit about half before his gag reflex kicked in. The angle wasn’t the best, though. If Timmy had been on his knees, he could have managed. Maybe.

It didn’t matter the depth, apparently, because Armie groaned and made appreciative noises and kept calling Timmy his “good boy,” so Timmy counted all of that a win. Plus, he already felt himself getting hard again just being tied down and _used_ in such a dominant way. He had always hated when guys called him a “slut” or “whore” in bed. It made him feel gross. But being used by Armie like this? It made Timmy feel like a king.

Armie pulled free of Timmy’s mouth suddenly and stroked himself to completion on Timmy’s chest. He leaned over Timmy with his eyes shut, catching his breath. Lethargically, Armie’s fingers reached for the knot beneath Timmy’s ribs and untied it with ease. He guided the rope free from behind Timmy’s back and slowly, reverently, untied Timmy’s wrists. He kissed each one before setting them down and climbing from the bed.

Timmy watched, sex-dumb, as Armie cleaned his chest with a towel from the bathroom. “Do you want to shower, baby?”

Timmy shook his head. “No. Need you.”

Armie slid into bed and reached for the covers at their feet. Before enveloping them in warmth, he gestured to himself. “Come here.”

Timmy threw himself across Armie’s chest, earning him a laugh from the older man. He curled up against Armie as much as he could until their arms and legs were a mish-mash of languid flesh. When he eventually found the perfect place, with his head nuzzled beneath Armie’s chin, he settled into relaxed limpness, and Armie cocooned them in covers.

“You like being tied up,” Armie said quietly. It wasn’t a question.

“I like everything with you.”

Armie kissed his forehead. “You don’t know that yet.”

“But I want to find out.”

Armie reached out his arm to turn off the lamp. “We will.”

“And we haven’t even fucked yet.”

Armie sighed. “I’m afraid.”

Timmy lifted his head even though he couldn’t make out Armie’s expression in the dark. “Of what?”

“That I’ll fall in love with you if we do.”

Timmy buried his face in the hair on Armie’s chest and clung to him. Did he feel the same? He knew it wasn’t the time to consider deep thoughts, not with the pleasant haze that still dulled his mind. Was this love, or was this need? It was fulfillment, certainly, but did fulfillment equal love? Timmy had never been in love before. He had no idea. But he was more than willing to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm off to Paris in one week and will be gone until end of March. No more writing before then. But I hope this spicy chapter will keep you fed while I'm gone. Love you all xoxo

**Author's Note:**

> Come play with me on [Tumblr](http://saradobiebauer.tumblr.com/)! I'm ridiculously in love with Timmy over there.


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